Out of the Darkness
by SonicTeamFreeWill
Summary: Tony Stark uncovers Hydra, but he's too late. Fury is down and SHIELD is collapsing. Days later, he gets a call from a dead man who has a team to protect and an agency to rebuild - and he wants the Avengers' help. / Set between s1 & s2. Later chaps: Barton, Banner, Romanov make appearances. Nat meets the Cavalry. FitzSimmons fangirl over Tony & Banner. Adventure.
1. Prologue: Into the Light

**AN ~ My livestream of AOS 2x01 was not working! SO I started this fic instead. It will be canon-divergent as of the end of s1, that is, not necessarily including s2 unless it fits. I will let you know if a chapter contains spoilers for s2. I don't write this genre much/at all so I would love your feedback! Otherwise, enjoy.**

"Sir," Jarvis interjected. "Encrypted message incoming."

"Get onto that would you? It might be just what I need."

Tony frowned at his screens. They were littered with all manner of information; SHIELD, Iraq, Mossad operations, CCTV footage, news channels. None of it seemed to fit together – at least, not in the right way. It was if someone had tipped fifty boxes of puzzle pieces in front of him, and hadn't told him which image he should be building. But worse. Puzzles, he could do - engineer-inventors didn't get this far if they couldn't – which is why it was irking him so much that he couldn't get this one.

"Tony," Pepper scolded, "You didn't come down to eat."

"This is important." He waved her away, but she put the sandwich on the desk in front of him anyway, and frowned at him as he swiped the information into a new arrangement, and back again when he saw no pattern.

"I love that you've got a sense of purpose now, Mr Hero," she said. "But Cap's got this one. You don't need to worry."

He dropped his hands and looked at her.

"Got what one."

Pepper, in response, called up a news feed and expanded it, kicking Tony's collection to the side screen. Tony's eyes widened and he stepped back as helicopters, bullets and explosions lit up the footage. As Pepper had suggested, Steve was pelting along a rooftop at high velocity, with half a dozen people on his heels. But more important to Tony at that particular moment was the rooftop itself.

"Is that-?"

"The Triskellion."

Tony's jaw fell slack.

"Message decode complete," Jarvis chimed in.

"Bring it up," Pepper ordered, as Tony seemed too busy absorbing the bursting of his work bubble. His eyes scanned it. Then scanned it again.

_Out of the darkness, into the light. – Hydra._

"Holy Mother of Cap," Tony finally managed.

"Agent Hill called," Pepper explained. "Fury's down. SHIELD's collapsing in on itself. Nobody knows how far up it goes."

Heart pumping, Core whirring furiously to keep up, Tony leapt into action. Not for the first time, he cursed his messy desk-keeping habits as he dug around for his cell.

"Jarvis – search Hydra. Shield. World War II. Leave out myth. Pepper – when did you find out about this? Have you called Romanov? Does Clint know? Where's Banner?"

Pepper placed his cell into his hand. Her lips were pursed, pretending she was not amused, though her eyes told a different story: as usual, they were of course – no, wait. They were sad. Tony stood upright, slowing, balancing out his movement. He turned to face her properly.

"I couldn't get a hold of Nat," Pepper explained. "Do you think she's okay? She was pretty close to Fury, wasn't she?"

Tony nodded slowly, hoping that he appeared as convinced as he felt when he said, "She's fine. She probably doesn't even know yet. She's probably deep undercover in the Ukraine by now. Something fishy's definitely going on there."

Pepper nodded too, hoping she looked as convinced as she wanted to feel; apart from anything else, Natasha would knock the both of them out and throw them out a window before she heard a word of sympathy from either of them.

"I haven't tried Clint or Banner yet," Pepper continued. "Thor's obviously off the grid."

"What about Coul-" Tony stopped himself before he could finish the name. He cleared. "Hill called, right? Good. Someone's still standing. And Cap's onto it. That's good too. But let's see what we can do to help."

"What do you have in mind?" 

"Is it still called hacking if I made it?"

Pepper's lips curled up in a smile for a moment. "I'll contact Clint and Banner and give our people a heads up."

Tony nodded and Pepper took his phone back, already putting it to her ear as she strode out of the room, leaving him with his screens.


	2. 1: From the Ashes

**AN ~ Wow, I can't believe the response this has gotten! Thanks for expressing interest! : ) This chapter contains no spoilers for season two but I want to let you know now that I plan to basically use Fitz's canonical condition (at least, before a certain pre-series-2 event). This will come up next chapter and will carry through the story and they always say if you're gonna bail, bail early so I thought I'd give you a heads up.**

**Other than that, I'd love to hear from you including things you want to see (lines you want used, references, characters you want to interact – if it's story-plausible I'd love to make it happen). You're also welcome to correct me *but please try to be nice. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Chapter 1**

As evening fell the next day, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark flopped back on the lounges of the 37th floor with a deceptively nonchalant air. Tony examined a burn, just cleared of metal fragments, that twisted from his right elbow down to his fingertips. Clint leaned away from a few cracked ribs, while beside him, Bruce slowly bent and flexed his black, blue, bloody knuckles.

Pepper sets drinks before them and sits down, nursing a sore hand – she might have broken a metacarpal firing the quantum blaster, but she wasn't going to tell anybody else that. There were bigger problems.

"So how many divisions are still standing?" she asked.

"About three?" Clint put in skeptically.

"That I can contact," Tony qualified. Clint drew a deep breath and winced at the sting in his ribs. He hadn't expected his cynical estimate to be even in the ballpark of correct.

"I should have seen it," he muttered.

"We all should have," Bruce corrected him. "But we didn't, for whatever reasons, and now we've got to move past that. We've got bigger problems now – like the Fridge." 

"So it's true." Pepper looked to Tony.

"Yeah, as far as I can tell. It started later than the others, but it fell fast. Security footage shows two guys being shot at by a black 'copter, they got in without proper checks, they had a showdown in an elevator and bam. Icebox opened."

"Makes you feel a hell of a lot more confident about who's been allocating power to whom, now, doesn't it?" Banner commented. He shook his head. It wasn't worth getting angry over. Those who had turned had turned. There were new problems to solve.

"I wonder if Fury knew," Clint mused. A collective sigh went around the room, and Pepper reached for the first drink.

As she lifted it from the table, a face appeared that made her squeak in a very undignified manner and drop her glass, sending orange juice and cognac over the screen.

"_What happened? Are we losing them?" _The face looked off-screen, to a colleague, who apparently gave him a negative answer as he came back to speak into the screen again. _"Stark? Pepper? Hello?"_

"Yeah-" Tony attempted to start, still swallowing his shock. "Yeah just give us a sec."

Banner lifted the tray of glasses, and a small windscreen-wiper-like device squeejeed the mimosa off the screen, appearing to filter it off into the body of the table itself. The face of the table then rose into a vertical position, like a television screen that could be watched from both sides. Because the camera was only on one side, the Stark Tower Avengers gathered on Barton and Banner's couch.

"_Barton! Banner! Good to see you," _greeted the man on the screen. "_Honestly, you don't know how good."_

"Oh," Bruce said, "I think we do." He held up his knuckles and Coulson's smile sunk a bit.

"_Maybe you do but the sentiment stands."_

"Get bored being dead or what?" Clint asked.

"_Oh yes, that," _Coulson said, with a smile that suggested it had never slipped his mind at all. _"It's a long story. I'm Director now. I was going to give you the rundown on Hydra but it seems you've had a run-in that's sufficient. Anything I need to catch you up on?"_

"Is Fury really dead?" Clint asked.

"_I'm not at liberty to say."_

The Stark Tower Avengers shared a glance.

"_You didn't hear it from me. And you probably won't be hearing from him for a while either. Where's Cap at?"_

"I couldn't get him," Tony said. "Or Romanov."

"_Hill?"_

"She's the one who gave us the heads up."

"_Good." _Coulson sighed and glanced low for a moment. _"Good," _he repeated a little more wistfully. Then he looked up again, but the wistfulness did not entirely disappear from his tone. _"A headcount's not why I called you. SHIELD's been stripped bare of credentials, of money, of weapons, of people power. I'm afraid your business isn't looking good, Stark. Sorry about that. But my point is, I need your help. Beyond that, I'd rather speak in person. I'm sending each of you some numbers. Together they make up my co-ordinates. How fast can you get here?"_

Pepper, Banner and Clint pulled out their devices. Tony conjured a textbox in the bottom corner of the screen, then eyed the messages the others had received.

"Four hours?" he assessed.

"_Great! See you then."_


	3. 2: HQ

**AN ~ Sorry I've taken so long! UGH MY EMOTIONS. This show is going to kill me, I swear. I will hopefully have another chapter up tonight so you're your eye out but in the mean time here is**

**Chapter 2**

Even as the ramp lowered, revealing the same man in the same suit with the same irritating half-smile, Tony Stark couldn't quite believe what he'd just seen.

"You're…"

"Not dead?" Coulson finished as Stark stepped off the ramp. "Like I said, it's a long story and I can't tell you most of it."

"But the cards?"

"I know." Coulson's smile dropped, giving way to a haunted expression that betrayed more than the loss of a handful of playing cards. He sighed and turned his head slightly, beckoning someone from the darkness. A tall, solidly built Chinese woman, dressed all in skin-tight black leather and Kevlar, stepped forward. She held a clipboard-sized PDA under one arm, and offered her free hand to be shaken.

"Melinda May," she introduced herself. Clint stepped past Tony to shake her hand.

"The Cavalry?" he wondered. Her eyes flashed steel and she tightened her grip around his hand ever so slightly.

"_Don't_ call me that," she muttered. Clint opened his mouth to apologise – and hopefully slip his hand free the moment the Romanov-esque grip lessened – but May's attention had been captured by another voice, that had spoken at the same time.

"Don't call her that."

Beneath her sharp hairline, and a healing wound, the way May's eyes locked on Banner's made him freeze for a moment. She exuded rage, and it filled the atmosphere like electricity in a lightning storm. Barton's face was starting to pale as her hand squeezed his tighter. Banner made sure his shoulders stayed down, and offered his best peacekeeping smile.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding out a hand, stepping towards her so that she could decide to accept the gesture or not. "I didn't mean to assume anything…I just know how it feels to have reputation precede me."

May's eyes lost their hard edge. She dropped Barton's hand with a nod to let him know all was forgiven, and took Banner's instead. She shook it briefly but tightly, and then shook Stark's too.

"I apologise, Doctor Banner," May said. "Things are a little on edge right now."

"So I hear."

Above them, a light flickered, and a bulb burst.

The semi-assembled Avengers took a moment to absorb their surroundings: a small hanger, inside a brick-and-concrete bunker, underground. It looked like it hadn't been used in a few years: the lights were dim and dusty, the signage worn. It looked like the beginnings of SHIELD - too small, too empty, to be all that was left.

Tony cleared his throat and turned back to Coulson.

"So why are we here, DC?" he asked. "Need help retiling your bathroom?"

"Actually, yes," Coulson said, "but that's not why you're here either. Like I said earlier, we need your resources to dredge up what's left of Shield, and to start a talent search to rebuild. I've got agents waiting to debrief in my office, but first – Stark, Banner, I have a favour to ask."

May took this as her cue to pass the PDA to Coulson and step out of the conversation. She raised an eyebrow at Barton and he followed her up nearby stairs. When the both of them were out of sight, Coulson pulled up a newspaper article on the screen. He enlarged the main image – a shot of two young scientists speaking up a crowd from the SciTech Academy Forum podium - and showed it to the others.

"Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons," Coulson introduced, as Stark took the device from him and skimmed the article. "Heard of them?"

"FitzSimmons?" Tony recalled. He looked up at Coulson over the screen. "They're here?"

Banner frowned. "I'd have thought the Academy would be one of the first places Hydra would try to rope in or cross off."

"They weren't at the Academy," Coulson said. "They were in the field, with me – but Hydra still tried to cross them off. And very nearly succeeded."

"Brave kids," Stark assessed. Banner nodded.

"Hell yeah they are," Coulson agreed. "But now they need guidance. They need inspiration. They need their heroes. Do you think you could spend a few minutes downstairs, have a chat?"

"Sure."

"Yeah."

"Good. Thanks." Coulson reached inside his jacket and pulled out a packet of pretzels. He tossed it to Tony. "Make sure Fitz gets some of those. The kid used to snack like a lion."

"Will do, Boss," Tony said, saluting Coulson with the pretzels. Coulson's face finally seemed to relax a little as he gestured them toward the elevator and disappeared up the stairs after May and Barton.


	4. 3: Cloaking

**AN ~ Before I get to the waffling part of this AN, Important question: How many of you have not seen any/enough Agents of Shield to know who I am talking about? I don't want to waste time with lots of characterisation if everybody knows what I mean but I know the AOS fandom is way smaller than mainstream Marvel and I don't want anyone to miss out or for the story to be lost on people. The AOS team, especially Fitzsimmons, are big in this fic so it's important. Let me know.**

**Short Waffle: A slightly longer chapter than usual but you guys deserve it because I did promise it to you the other day. Also I had to fix the angst. UGH this show will be the death of me I swear. Just a heads up this is now officially set between season 1 &amp; 2 of AOS. You may notice certain elements of foreshadowing. Sorry about your souls but I just had to. Likes, Reviews &amp; Requests are most welcome, and in the mean time, I'll be over here crying **

**Chapter 3**

Shield Prodigy Jemma Simmons certainly didn't look like she'd been through all that Coulson said she had: her eyes were clear, her hair pristine, her dress neat and her collar crisp. But there were signs. She had to take conscious efforts to keep her arms by her side instead of wrapped around her body, and sometimes, even keeping her head up seemed to take more effort than swimming that 90 feet of water.

When Coulson had buzzed her to collect Stark and Banner, she had found herself relieved for the brief respite from the lab. Now, waiting in the elevator, she wrung her hands and repeated to herself that if she started picking or biting her nails, people would notice. She dug her nails into her skin instead – but only enough to leave indentations that would pass.

The elevator gave a cheerful bing! to announce its arrival on the ground floor, and the doors opened to reveal Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. For a moment, Simmons forgot her worry. A smile lit up her face; she could feel it burning in her cheeks, making her giddy, and it was good. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like that.

"Mr Stark! Mr Banner!" she greeted. "What a pleasure! It's such an honour to finally meet you."

"And you, Doctor Simmons," Banner replied as he and Stark stepped into the elevator. It was a small space, and in the light of what they had just seen and been told, the small, beaming scientist already inside had a strangely large presence.

"Me?" Simmons scoffed and shook his hand. "Nonsense. You're the one who's quadrupled the research available on gamma radiation and technology - and Mr Stark, is it true you created a new element based on your grandfather's map? You really must tell me more about that I mean I know potentiality and all but that's a remarkable achievement and I'd love to hear more about it and I won't tell anyone I swear. Well, not that there's really anyone to tell except -"

Her garbling stopped. She still had her hand wrapped ferociously around Stark's. Her smile flickered like a gaslight flame, her eyes desperately trying to keep her face alight as she swallowed the rest of her sentence and let Tony's hand fall back to his side. She cleared her throat and faced the doors of the elevator as a bing! announced their arrival on the lab floor. The way that Simmons brushed her already-pristine skirt smooth and checked her posture and her hair did not go unnoticed by either of the scientists who followed her into her lab.

She knocked on one of the silver tables.

"Fitz?"

"Hm?"

"They're here."

For a moment, the shoulders remained hunched under their blue cardigan. Then Fitz drew a deep breath, straightening as he turned to catch sight of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner here, right here, in his lab, just a few metres away.

His eyes widened. His jaw slacked.

"Um. I. Hello. I'm – help?"

His hand started to shake. Simmons rushed forward and took the microchip and the tweezers from him, putting them safely on the table as Fitz stepped forward, curling and uncurling his fingers in an effort to keep control of them.

"He's very happy to meet you," Simmons explained. "He's having some trouble with words at the moment. Got a lot on his mind, you know."

That gaslight smile again – but her eyes were gentle and sincere this time, as she hovered behind her partner, watching carefully as Fitz hesitantly approached two of the greatest living minds of his age.

"Doctor Banner. Mr Stark. It's. I'm. Sorry, words." Fitz pinched his nose, screwing up his eyes as he searched his scattered mind. "I'm proud – no, ah…honoured, that's the one. Big, uh…big-" He waved his hand next to his face.

"Always nice to meet a fan," Tony said, offering his hand to shake and smiling as Fitz's face relaxed.

"Especially one as brilliant as you, Doctor Fitz," Banner added. "I'm glad to see my scholarship went to the right man."

Fitz snorted and lowered his eyes, drawing his hand back so that it crossed his body. His fingers worried the material of his cardigan. Bruce opened his mouth to amend his statement – with what, he was not exactly sure – but closed it again when Simmons intervened.

"Don't," she whispered, putting a hand on Fitz's shoulder. "Don't do this, come on. You know he's right." Fitz didn't turn to face her. "If he was right, I wouldn't be stuck."

"Fitz."

"Jemma."

He turned his head, just slightly. It wasn't even enough to lay eyes on her, but she felt the heat of his glare. She dropped her hand from his shoulder as he stalked off toward the back of the room. She stepped in front of him and conjured that inexhaustible smile from the depths of her bone marrow.

"I'm sorry, we're very busy at the moment. We should get back to work. I'm sure Coulson has more important things for you two to be doing than chatting down here with us."

Simmons gave a short, shrill laugh of false nonchalance and touched up her still-perfect hair as she waited for their visitors to leave. Hesitant to rank Coulson's mystery meeting 'more important,' Banner would have refused to leave if it hadn't been for the desperation in Simmons' eyes.

"Come on, Tony," he beckoned.

Stark waved him off with the packet of pretzels. "Fill me in."

Banner glanced at Simmons to check that leaving Tony was okay. She nodded reassuringly, and Banner mimicked her smile in what he hoped was an earnest and supportive way. He had half a mind to call Pepper before Tony said something stupid and insensitive, but as Simmons settled back into her workspace, head bent over her microscope, he realised that Doctor Fitz already had his guardian angel standing by. Banner sighed and pressed the button for the elevator.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, made a bee-line after Fitz, toward the holotable. The design on display seemed to be a computer system of some kind, or perhaps a battery? Stark frowned and stepped closer as the younger scientist – with almost none of his former hesitancy - flipped the containment system over and pulled out one of the chips, enlargening it so that he could see the circuit that ran over it, and flicking the rest of the design away.

Stark pulled it up again.

"Hey!" Fitz turned, about to slap him away before he realised to whom he was speaking.

"Sorry," he mumbled, turning back to and glaring at his work, praying his fingers wouldn't betray his incompetence and frustration with the task. "I don't usually like people – people messing with the, um…but you would…I mean, go."

Fitz sighed. Tony frowned.

"Stuck, huh?" he mused. "Yeah, I see, like it might work on a clear blue sky but there's no way this can really call itself cloaking."

"I know, right?" Fitz nodded. "I think it's the circuitry but every workable configuration I've tried just won't-"

"Translate large scale." Tony nodded thoughtfully and popped open the bag of pretzels.

"It's for the Bus," Fitz explained. "It's a plane. The Bus. It's gotta be go high speed, high altitude, operate convincingly in cloudy conditions and with shielding. Gotta be controllable from the cockpit, too - switchable on and off - but that'll probably be the easier part."

"Got any hard copy designs?"

"Of course."

Fitz all but sprinted back to the desk he'd been sitting at when Stark and Banner had walked in. He had scattered over the surface a number of prototype units, and in the priority rack, what Stark guessed were his newest set of circuit components.

"Right. Let's have a look under the hood." He slid into Fitz' chair and in one hand, used the tweezers to pick up and examine the chip that Fitz had been holding earlier. With the other hand, he held the open snack bag out to Fitz.

"Pretzel?"


	5. 4: Cracks

**AN ~ Insanely excited for Tuesday. You guys may or may not be getting several chapters of this between now and then because I can't keep my mind off it and I have a quiet few days in terms of school *touch wood***

**Chapter 4**

For a few minutes, Clint Hawkeye Barton and Melinda The-Cavalry May were alone in Coulson's office.

"Take a look around," May said. "The others will be here in a while."

After that, the minutes passed in silence. May leant on the Director's desk with her arms crossed in front of her chest, as Barton picked his way around the room, drifting between the old tech Coulson kept around as it highlighted his fancy.

More and more often, he stole a glance at Melinda May. The way she stared looked familiar: intent but distracted; haunted, but trying to solve a problem. It was different to the steel behind her eyes when she had introduced herself. It was very Nat. Though Nat didn't often let herself get caught in these moments. May seemed to be ignoring Barton's presence, staring blindly at her own boots as the mechanics of her mind set about whatever task she had given herself.

He was trusted, then, Barton assessed. He picked up a pen-radio and turned it over in his hands. Trust meant May knew him – or at least, knew of him, and knew enough of him to know about Natasha Romanov, which meant she knew Nat. Knew Nat closely. And that said a lot.

Just as he teetered on the edge of considering potentially opening his mouth, the door opened, and the grim Director Coulson added his presence to the tangible atmosphere. May didn't quite stand straight at his arrival, Barton noticed, but her eyes lost their cloud. She watched Coulson like…well, like a hawk.

"Sorry for the delay," Coulson said. May stood from the desk and circled like a moon, watching the Director take his seat. He gestured for them to sit, but though Barton moved forward, May hovered closer to the back of the room. Instead, the seat next to Barton was taken by a new face: a young woman, dressed much like May, with a face that was used to smiling but that was not, at present. Barton flashed her a smile and got a mimic back before the young woman turned to Coulson with sharp eyes.

"Who's this?"

"Clint Barton," he said.

"Barton?" the woman repeated, turning to face Clint. Her eyes lit up and ah, ther was that smile. "Clint Barton? Hawkeye? Dude, I saw the footage from New York, that was totally wicked like holy crap I'd kill to shoot like that. Skye, by the way."

"I could teach you something, if you like," Barton offered. "No promises, but if we get time…"

He glanced at the Director, who nodded him toward May. Clint twisted in his seat. May gave him a nod: permission. Beside her, a second door opened and a tall, slender black man in army fatigues entered the room. Immediately, he rolled his eyes.

"Guys come on, the mood's dark enough, I don't need to be blind."

He grinned as he turned the lights on – which was actually a mercy, though Barton hadn't really noticed the dark.

"Antoine Triplett," he introduced, offering his hand for Barton to shake. "My friends call me Trip."

"Clint Barton. Either works."

"Tony Stark and Bruce Banner will be here in a few minutes," Coulson added. Skye and Trip's eyes widened, but the Director leaned forward and drew out some papers, suggesting that conversation was to be moved along.

"We'll move to the holotable when Stark gets here."

Skye interrupted. "Simmons could-"

"Stark."

Barton frowned as Skye sat back in her seat, biting her lip. But the Director was speaking.

"As you can see, our hard copy records are somewhat lacking. This room – what we had on the Bus and in the Playground – are all we have left with immediate access. A few other bases 'round the place are still on our side, but a lot of what they had was destroyed or taken. What remains, we don't want to send digitally until we can strengthen our security, and we don't have the resources to get everything here."

"Surely a few plane tickets, sir?" Trip put in. Coulson sighed.

"Currently we're paying out of pocket for our own food," he confessed. "We don't get government funds any more. SHIELD's assets are frozen. This is bad. I didn't wanna tell you guys how bad but it's been weeks and the recruitment drive isn't going as well as I'd thought."

"Recruitment? How many newbies you got?" Barton raised an eyebrow.

"None."

Of course.

"And you want me to do what exactly? Stark, Banner, they've got money and smarts. Unless you've got a target for me, there's not much I can do."

"Oh, we've got targets." Coulson held one of the papers up so they could see it. It was a photograph of a heavy-set, balding man with the gruff expression typical of a mug shot. The Director opened his mouth to explain who it was, when the back door, the one that Trip had entered through, was flung open with a little more force than necessary.

"We can start with whoever hurt those kids," Banner growled, wringing his hands and furiously, frantically pacing the empty space between the Agents and the door.

"Bruce," Barton warned quietly.

"Woah, man." Trip shifted to the edge of his seat.

Coulson waited and watched. Banner's pacing slowed. He drew a deep breath. When his hands stopped shaking, he spoke again.

"How did this happen. How did we let this happen. Did Fury know? Coulson? _Did Fury know?_"

"Fury saved them," Coulson said. "He's quite possibly the only reason Fitz is even still here. SHIELD stands, Banner, and we stand together. We're good."

"Good," Banner repeated. It was simultaneously, _coz that's all there is left_, and, _you call this good?_ but it let him calm down enough to take the seat that had just been vacated by one of the junior agents, who was headed for the back door.

"Skye," Coulson warned. Leaving her hand on the door, she turned on her heels so that her bangs whirled around her face.

"I don't need to be here," she said with a nonchalance not matched by her eyes. "I've had the briefing. I'm going to the lab."

"No you're not."

"FitzSimmons might need help."

"You're staying."

"Skye," May growled. Skye glared at Coulson, then at May, then back at Coulson. She released the handle in an exaggerated gesture, and backed one, two, three steps away from the door, to perch against the wall where May had been earlier.

"So," Coulson restarted. "The targets."


	6. 5: Targets

**AN ~ So much for break…I've been busy. But! I haven't been useless. My brain has been too preoccupied to work with a sustained plot but I have written several AOS drabbles and oneshots if any of you are interested:**

** theclaravoyant . tumblr mightierthanthesword-fanfiction**

**PS - now I really am on break so I should get this out much more frequently. Thank you SO MUCH to the SO MANY people who have subscribed, liked &amp; commented even though I took so long to update this time!**

**PPS - This story will at this point end when it merges with the beginning of season 2.**

**Without further ado:**

**Chapter 5**

Hawkeye's fingers tightened around his bow as he ducked behind the wall, out of sight. A moment later, Skye launched herself over the wall, rolled on landing and slammed her back against the limestone. She smiled at him and nodded, and he nodded back.

"Bruce is in retreat. May says we're getting up that building to get you sights on Azimi, and me network connection to hack the CCTV. Byrne hit the subway. May's in pursuit. Coulson's trying to get through to the police but the lines are being run off the hook. Between them and Hydra we've got maybe twenty guys shooting at us. And the building's in lockdown so there could be more."

Hawkeye nodded, and notched an arrow to his bow.

"You ready to run?"

Skye nodded.

"You're probably gonna have to bust the door. I'll cover you. If they follow, it'll be easier to pick them off in a stairwell anyway. See any arrows lying around on the way, grab them, but don't go out of your way. Run. Ready?"

She nodded again, and three – two –

Hawkeye jumped out of cover, drawing the fire. He ran along the top of the wall, bullets shattering limestone fragments and flower stalks alike as he dodged their wrath. If one of them so much as tapped his ankle he was gone and they'd be descended upon and suffocated in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, he was rather good.

Skye zig-zagged under the protection of his arrow fire, dodging overturned bins, abandoned possessions, and the odd dead or unconscious body as he sprung from flowerbed to flowerbed behind her, keeping her cover up. One Hydra guy, she had to flip onto his back, but otherwise they made it across the block without incident, and she smashed through the glass door and threw herself at the carpet just in time to avoid a series of bullets to the back of the head.

"Upstairs, go go go," Hawkeye insisted, giving her only a moment to recover. Breathing heavily, she nodded, and hauled herself to her feet. She ran for the stairs, stumbling but determined. Police sirens outside declared that more cops had shown up. This had turned into a much bigger deal than they'd wanted. But then, putting a man who could shatter diamond, melt bullets, and shoot plumes of flames like dragon's breath down the street under pressure was bound to draw some kind of unwanted attention. When the Hulk had made an appearance, matters had escalated quickly. Now, with squads of police and an unknown number of Hydra agents shooting at them, and at each other, Hawkeye wondered why they didn't just abort. This had been intended as a covert mission, so neither May nor Skye had lethal weapons on them, and not enough ammo for a fight of this scale. Hawkeye would have pulled the plug, he thought as he checked and re-quivered the arrows Skye had handed him. But then, he hadn't often worked in a team, and he had never been the leader of one. Maybe this is just how it worked. Besides, Agent May trusted Coulson's judgement, and Skye's ability, at least enough to let the whole thing go down, so Hawkeye kept his mouth shut, and followed Skye into the stairwell.

.o.o.o.

"What happened out there?" Coulson asked, passing Banner a cold, wet towel. The Doctor wiped his forehead.

"I'm sorry. I was stressing out. When the gunfire started I guess I lost it." He shook his head. "Is Skye okay? I meant to get in the way but I might have got too close…"

"Skye's fine. She's with Clint."

"Good." Banner put the towel down on the upturned bucket beside him, and picked up his water bottle just as the van rounded a corner a little too sharply, and he and Coulson had to grab the straps installed for this purpose to avoid slipping to the side.

"I'm sorry," Banner said, not for the first time. "I kinda blew this thing didn't I?"

"You had a tough couple of days."

"We all have. It's no excuse for putting people in more danger than they're already in."

Coulson pressed his lips together and lowered his eyes.

"We'll…get you back in the lab," he offered. "FitzSimmons will have something for you to do, out of the line of fire."

Banner nodded, but he too lowered his eyes. He hated thinking about what had happened to those kids. Since he'd met them the other day, he'd learnt of the other things they'd lost; how they'd been reported MIA, how their credentials had been wiped, locking them into SHIELD, Hydra or AIM for the rest of their lives. Their brilliant, hopefully long lives. He'd seen photos and footage from just a few months ago, that he would have aged at years old. He'd seen how Agent May rebuilt herself every time she stepped into and out of that room, determined not to walk on eggshells around them, but unable to deny that the young scientists under her protection, she had failed to protect. No wonder she had been so on edge when they'd met, and so eager to fight when they were out today. He and Agent May were more similar than he'd first thought.

.o.o.o.

May flew down the subway stairs as fast as the crowd would let her.

"Get out of the way!" she hollered, her voice snatched up by the murmuring crowd and the screech of the incoming train and how hard her lungs were beginning to have to work.

She launched herself off the platform, and wrapped her arms around Byrne, knocking her out of the way as the train screamed past. In the tiny space, they rolled. Byrne knocked May onto her back, and pinned one of her arms by her side, and braced the other one away from her body. A few millimetres more and her wrist could easily be broken, so she dropped her ICER and cursed under her breath as she returned to making sure Byrne couldn't strangle her.

The train screeched to a halt and the two of them huddled in the dark space, waiting, breathing into each other's faces and trying to sneak the upper hand. May could feel the sizeable gravel digging into her flesh and bones. She was going to have colourful skin by the afternoon. At least, May figured, her body was incidentally protected by Byrne's.

When the train pulled away, May took her chance. She shoved upward with her whole body, forcing Byrne off the ground. The moment of confusion allowed May to pull herself to her feet, and knock the bewildered Byrne into the train. The woman's head snapped back against the window, but the glass wavered and her head bounced back as if against a mattress. She grabbed May's wrist, and May gritted her teeth as she watched her bones bend. It didn't feel like they were breaking, but she lost her grip and her stomach twisted at the jarring unreality.

Byrne sprung away from her, throwing her back against the wall, grabbing May's abandoned ICER and chasing the train as it disappeared down the tunnel. The platform was clear, but for the few people who had come down in the minutes after the train had left. May launched herself after the woman again, but slower, she was tiring. She gritted her teeth and raised the comm unit at her wrist, to her mouth.

"Stark, I can't get a grip on her."

_"That's fine. I'm on my way. Keep eyes on her. Is she going intangible?" _

"No, it's her surroundings she's changing."

_"Can she get through or just bend it?"_

"Bending. At least, so far."

_"Duck."_

May threw herself into the gravel, panting, but glad for the reprieve. She watched as something flashed and shot over her head. Iron Man. She smiled.

.o.o.o.

"Louise Byrne," Tony announced. "This is SHIELD. We want to help you. Let us take you into custody or we will do it anyway."

Byrne jumped onto the back of the train, and fired three bullets in quick succession. Tony rolled his eyes and dodged one, and let the other two ping harmlessly off his suit. He raised his arm, and pulled up his wrist launcher. FitzSimmons' bullet shot perfectly from it, spun through the air and shocked her still. She fell off the train and rolled, and Tony grimaced as he came to land beside her. He pressed the button to lower his helmet to get a better look.

"Byrne's down for the count," he narrated. "She's gonna medical attention."

_"I'll get Simmons on it," _Coulson replied._ "I'm sending a truck to the station. Get up top if you can. See you soon. Over."_

"Roger that."

"Roger that. Over."

Tony turned as May jogged to catch up to him. They nodded to each other, confirming a mission completed with no serious harm, at least to either of them, and then she knelt beside Byrne. Pressing her lips together, trying to ignore the sickening feeling of watching her arm twist, May pressed two fingers to Byrne's neck. The woman did not move, but her heart was indeed still pumping. May recovered her ICER, then stripped Byrne of her own pistol. Her eyes were drawn to the bullet Tony had used.

It was longer than a normal bullet, more closely resembling a miniature missile. The nose was so warped it was like it had been liquefied, like a frozen puddle, but the needle it contained had barely been affected.

"FitzSimmons," Tony explained, as May raised the bullet to examine it. "Started on that as soon as we got a read on Byrne's abilities."

May tucked the bullet into the outside pocket of her jacket and wiped her gloves on her pants.

"Let's get her up."


	7. 6: Treading Water

**AN ~ HOW AWESOME IS AGENT CARTER?! Couldn't resist a shout out this chap. There may well be more in the future because oh my god, the parallels between Peggy and Jemma are killing me.**

**There is a theory/headcanon I have about Simmons and food referenced in this chapter. If you want more detail on it, message me or check it out on my tumblr (warning, mention and/or discussion of anxiety, depression, ptsd &amp; disordered eating).**

** theclaravoyant . tumblr post/102661574176 /but-wait-what-simmons-theory-im-dying-to-know**

**Other than that, enjoy (and count how many ships got shipped this chapter)**

**Chapter Six ~ Treading Water**

Their heartbeats were almost audible in the tight, stuffy stairwell. They twisted every couple of steps, switching positions to protect the way forward, and their own backs. By the time they reached somewhere around the third floor, their hearts had slowed to regular but alert, since the running was over, but as silence outside the stairwell persisted, Skye could feel her own beats accelerate. She fought to remember her training, to keep measured breathing so that her heart would keep pace, but the silence nagged at her mind.

"They are in lockdown," Hawkeye murmured. "They're supposed to be quiet, so that if we were bad guys, we wouldn't know where they are."

"Yeah but-"

"I know."

He lowered his bow, pausing with his back to the wall. Gesturing to Skye to take point, he slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. Skye crept onto the scratchy office carpet. Her eyes scanned the desks, and looked for signs of life, but there were none, except-

"Office at the back," she said, nodding toward it.

Warily lowering his bow once more, Hawkeye approached the floor director's door and pushed it open. Skye's finger itched her trigger, gut screaming that something was most definitely off about this situation. But Hawkeye's posture relaxed substantially, and a tall woman in black, with brilliant blonde corkscrews, followed him out of the room.

"Skye, meet Bobbi Morse. Bobbi, Skye."

The blonde woman smiled, but her eyes were like ice. A chill ran down Skye's body, but one that made her want to move closer to this Bobbi Morse, not farther away.

"Clint tells me you're SHIELD. Real SHIELD."

"Yep, real SHIELD, that's me," Skye said, deciding that if Clint Barton could trust her, she could too. "If there is such thing as real SHIELD these days."

"Kinda glad I got out before it went down," Bobbi said. "But then – kinda not."

"You should come back," Clint suggested. "We'd love to have you."

"Ha ha, babe, you couldn't afford me."

"Mercenary? Really?" Skye didn't bother to hide the hostility in her voice. "You here for Azimi? Are you alone? What'd you do with all the people on this floor?" She all but raised the gun again. Bobbi was unfazed.

"I'm only merc when I want to be," she said. "But yes, now is one of those times. I've got a team below us but don't worry, they've been instructed not to hurt anyone except in self defence. Yes, I'm here for Azimi and only Azimi."

"Collect or control?" Barton asked.

"Control."

Skye looked between them, and got a clear indication of what that meant. Not that she could criticise: the very same was probably on SHIELD's mind. On Coulson's mind, more accurately. They'd have sent a sniper, if they didn't have Hawkeye. She holstered her gun, well aware of the climbing number on her wristband.

"You can get a clear shot out that window," Bobbi went on, gesturing to one across the room, "but I missed and he freaked and ran. Couple 'a cops and Hydra chasing him so I thought I'd lay low. I'm paid by hit, not by day for this though." She shook her head, frustrated.

"So your bosses wouldn't mind if you'd come back to SHIELD?" Barton offered – or perhaps, Clint hoped, raising his eyebrows.

"Martini hold the olives I am there. I have been thinking of coming back anyway. I hear Coulson's still ticking. That I gotta see, at least."

.o.o.o.

"We did…good," Fitz said, with a nod and a smile.

"We did do well, yeah." Simmons turned the second prototype of their new bullet in her hands and smiled down at it. She wanted more than anything to sit down right now, to just curl up and go to sleep, but it was only lunch time. Since when had her days become so exhausting?

Fitz must have caught her eyes glazing, because he perked up and offered to make her a –

"aa….ah."

"Sandwich?"

"Yeah."

She could have cried, she could have bloody cried at the look on his face – his eyes big, round, hopeful, feeling successful, either ignorant or unaware of the fact that it was not his mind repairing, but her finishing his sentences, like she always had but had never needed to, until now. She bit her lip and nodded her gratitude, and as he left the lab, she took a deep breath. If she could just keep it together for a little while longer…he was almost there.

Right?

She looked back down at the bullet in her hands. Fitz – Old Fitz, Real Fitz, _her _Fitz, she could never help thinking - would have named it something. The Byrne bullet. The Byrnet. She nearly pulled a face at her own attempts. She was too proper for this.

She pulled her skirt back into line – though a voice whispered that it was scarcely out – and followed Fitz toward the kitchen. She was so focused on fixing her hair – for the umpteenth time, the voice reminded her – that she walked straight into Trip.

"Hey, English," he said, smiling gently. "Y'okay?"

It was the voice of a man who knew she was far from it. She smiled at his non-intrusive nature, his respect of the walls she was trying to hold up, and how hard that was. She swallowed her tongue. She barely trusted her own words these days. If nothing else, they were all tied to Fitz, and to everything that happened. Carefully measuring each syllable, she explained,

"Fitz offered to make lunch. Would you like to join us?"

"Sure thing." He turned, and Simmons hurried to stop him.

"Oh, don't go out of your way, I can wait, or- or-"

"Nah, it's cool," Trip insisted – if one could insist in so cool a tone. "I was looking for Fitz anyway. Found some stuff in grandpa's box I thought he might find interesting. Might be able to fix. Keep him busy, y'know, something little to do when the cloaking…."

Simmons shook her head. The bloody cloaking was going to be the death of the both of them. She wished she knew enough about engineering to find the solution herself, but though she'd pored over every book on the subject she could get her hands on, there was a finesse with it that Fitz had and she didn't. A fundamental understanding, a flexibility, as if it was in his blood. Like he could see something before him, even touch it, turn it, examine it, before it was built. Such a vision wasn't necessary in her field of study. If she'd ever had it, she hadn't exercised it in too long. Her knowledge came in words and pictures, but never so tactile as Fitz'. Never so inventive.

"God, I miss him," she whispered, in a breath.

"It's gonna take some getting used to, that's all," Trip said. Simmons realised her mistake, and brushed furiously at her skirt, averting her eyes from his.

"Um - Thank you, Trip. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. He will. Appreciate it." She bit her lip. _Just a little longer._

"Sure," Trip said, sounding mercifully unaffected by the swinging mood of the conversation. "I'll grab it after lunch. Got some stuff for you too, by the way. Not science stuff. It's a surprise."

Simmons smiled, wishing she had the words, and could trust the words, to express her gratitude to Trip. Instead, she followed him toward the kitchen, where Fitz was chopping tomatoes.

"Mind if I get in on the sandwich action?" Trip asked, sliding into one of the seats at the island bench. Wordlessly, Fitz nodded and pulled another two slices of bread from the packet, before resuming his slicing of tomatoes.

Jemma took the seat beside Trip, back straight, lips together, trying to ignore the way her stomach churned and protested at the mere thought of food.


	8. 7: We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

**AN ~ Sorry I took so long with this one! It's a little longer to make up. I'd like to say a special thanks and a Happy (Chinese) New Year to SusanSmile, who has been a regular reviewer and has made my day on several occasions over the progression of this story. I'd also like to thank the others who have favourited, subscribed to and/or reviewed this story so far. Thanks for sticking with me despite my irregularity!**

**(in other news omg only one more agent carter and omg agents of shield comes back soon)**

**and now to the story:**

**Chapter Seven ~ We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat**

Coulson paced behind his desk. Then, finding the space too small for the frustration and concern emanating from him in waves, stepped in front of his desk and resumed pacing, twisting a paperclip as he waited.

"They should have answered by now," he muttered as May entered.

"It's not like everyone's manning the phones," she said, somehow reassuring in her sarcasm. She shrugged. "They're probably trying to stay off the grid."

"If there's anyone left."

"You think Weaver's base is down?"

Coulson pursed his lips. May scowled as he pointedly put the paperclip back on his desk, and touched the screen to attempt to reload the connection.

"Simmons said the transmission cut out before Weaver shut it off. We know the Academy's out of commission. It's not so far a leap."

May pursed her lips too. He was right. She crossed her arms and settled back against the choice combination of wall and bench by the door to wait with him. The screen turned a responsive shade of dark grey. A loading symbol appeared, stuttered, and disappeared. Then, just for a flash, there was movement. It was cut badly by pixels, probably a damaged camera on their end, and it was only a few stills. Coulson hammered the screen with a passion that would have made his engineer very cross, but it seemed to do something. A dark skinned face – Agent Weaver? It was difficult to tell – turned toward the camera. One, two, three shots. It looked like they were approaching. But then the connection cut out, back to black.

Coulson sighed. He turned back to May, who was now standing.

"Byrne's in custody," she informed him. "Azimi's in the wind, but if we leave a team to keep an eye out, we should be able to spare enough people to follow this up."

"Spare's a relative term," Coulson remarked, a little bitter, but he nodded as he turned the information in his mind.

May shrugged. "Now's as good a time as any. Especially with the Avengers here. We're not going to have extra hands forever."

"How many do you think we'll need?"

"Depends. D'you think they've taken over the Academy or destroyed it?"

The raise of an eyebrow was implicit in the question, but May's face was stern. The thought of what might have happened to one of the largest, best known, and most highly regarded symbols of their institution at the hands of Hydra was a distasteful thought at best, if not a gut-wrenchingly gruesome one.

A long moment passed between them. Thoughts of Fitz and Simmons and Skye the countless other brilliant minds and bodies that were now MIA. Thoughts of Ward, and how badly people could go wrong when they were misled by people and groups like Hydra. The destructive combination of the two.

Coulson cleared his throat, and leaned over to his desk controller once more.

"Agent Skye," he beckoned, into the loudspeaker. "Report to the Director's office a-s-a-p."

.o.o.o.

"Oh. Skye." Simmons' tight smile relaxed. It sunk a little, but Skye would take what she could get.

"Lucky me, hey?" Skye grinned. "Celebrity nurse." She shifted to show off her battle wounds, such as they were; glass had cut through the jacket on her left arm and littered her skin with cuts, which were now being meticulously examined by Doctor Bruce Banner.

Simmons smiled weakly again at her joke, taking the opportunity of Skye's watchful yet not overly intruding eye to take the nearest seat that availed itself. She was sure the expert hacker and people person must be able to hear her bones creak by now.

"I shouldn't have left Doctor Banner with the work," she murmured apologetically.

"Hey, I had a slip to make up for," he assured her. "What were you up to anyway?"

"Just cleaning up lunch with Fitz."

"You guys okay?" Banner's eyes were gentle, entreating rather than probing. Simmons looked down, twisting her fingers in her lap as she resisted the urge to fiddle with the forceps lying enticingly on the bench beside her.

"Mr Stark joined him so I thought I'd-"

"Take a breather?" Skye's tone was only half jest.

"I was going to say make myself useful..." Simmons groaned silently, and gave herself away.

"I shouldn't have pressed, I'm sorry," Banner said. "But look, Doctor Simmons, how about I mind the fort here and you get some rest. Coulson told us how short handed you are at the moment. To be honest I'm surprised you're all still functioning."

His eyes glistened with laughter, gently teasing her, but then they softened as her fatigue gave way to a weary hopefulness.

"Seriously Simmons," Skye backed him up. "We got this. Honestly, these are grazes and everyone else is untouched. Not a thing to worry about. If the world ends, I'll text you."

She tossed a cell phone across the space between them, and Simmons fumbled for it and dropped it.

"Okay," she muttered. "Okay I do need some rest. But wake me if anything happens. And if anyone other than you two want me, just- I mean don't-"

"Gotcha covered," Skye vowed. She watched Simmons leave the room and let out a heavy breath. Finally, Banner gave her the all-clear.

"Thanks," she said, swinging off the high seat. She glanced after Jemma, a second silent thanks. Banner nodded. Then Coulson's voice came over the PA.

_"Agent Skye. Report to the Director's office a-s-a-p."_

.o.o.o.

"You make a good toaster _and_ a good sandwich," Tony remarked, grinning through the last bite of his prosciutto buffalo mozzarella.

"'S not quite right," Fitz shrugged. "Simmons does - makes a better one. She's teaching me. It's my favourite." He grinned, as pleased with his progress as with the sandwich, and pleasantly surprised with himself to boot.

"When you figure it out, write me a code for it. Jarvis could afford to make something different every now and then."

The disembodied head on the end of the bench piped up, in a crisp but warm English male voice.

"Perhaps Mr Stark could invest more time in learning the culinary arts himself. I recall one recent occasion upon which it took nearly three hours for Mr Stark to make chicken and vegetables."

"And rice. And it was in a flying kitchen."

"A rather generous first class one, larger than that of most Manhattan apartments, I might remind you."

Fitz snorted with laughter as he wiped his hands off on the nearest tea towel.

"What?" Tony raised an eyebrow, challenging Fitz to explain himself. The engineer just shrugged, eyes sparkling, and picked up the Iron Man helmet.

"I want one."

"Regrettably Mr Fitz, I must dedicate myself to keeping Mr Stark out of trouble. However, I gather you are quite a formidable engineer yourself. I agree with Mr Stark in that you might be able to one day create a system much like mine to suit your own needs and preferences."

"Yeah, maybe with a budget like Mr Stark's."

"Build it and they will come."

Fitz' cheeks flushed red, flattered by the computer. Another person might have considered it strange to be praised – complimented, even – in such a way by a machine, but Fitz admired Jarvis almost as much as he did his creator.

Tony rolled his eyes as he stepped around Fitz to leave his own plate by the sink.

"Look at this one. Fawning all over you. If he ever goes MIA I'll know where to find him."

"Tony!"

The call drew their attention to the doorway, where a tall woman sporting blonde ringlets and a hefty baton.

"What's Pepper up to these days? You put a ring on that yet?"

"She'll do a better job of choosing than I will," Tony said with a grin, meeting the blonde woman in the doorway and giving her a hug. It was a little awkward, given her height, and Fitz' cheeks were starting to ache from smiling. Good.

Clint Barton passed Stark and the woman as they fell out of their hug.

"Fitz, Bobbi Morse. Bobbi – Doctor Leopold Fitz."

"Nice to meet you, Doctor." She smiled warmly. Her eyes were sharp, but not in an unfriendly way. Nevertheless, when she offered her hand for shaking, Fitz fumbled the helmet still in his arms, and barely managed to make a word out whole. He could have sworn the blush reached all the way down his neck before Stark cleared his throat.

"Guess you know she's Mockingbird too, huh?" he added.

Fitz stared.

"I. Jemma. I have to. Find. I'll get her. She wants to – um."

"She wants to meet me?" Bobbi tossed her hair and batted her lashes. "I have fans. I'm liking this. Lead the way."

"She's probably in the- um. Y'know." Mumbling to himself, Fitz hurried out of the room before he could butcher another twenty half-sentences. He felt Bobbi's concerned frown follow him down the hallway. No doubt the others would fill her in.

.o.o.o.

"Agent Skye, reporting for duty." She laid heavy sarcasm into the salute. May's May-version of a scowl met her at the door and she sobered up enough to ask sincerely – "What's up?"

A lump of doubt and worry, never too far from her mind these days, hardened in her chest. As Coulson and May explained, it slowly rose up her trachea. It felt like a piece of flint, stuck, cold, scratching her. She tried on her own to connect through Coulson's desk, but when she got the same result they described, resolved to use her own devices to enhance and decrypt signals in the hopes of making the transmission clearer. Before she could race downstairs to fetch her trusty laptop, Coulson suggested something else.

"If we tell the computer the location of the Academy, can you break through the images that obscure it from the satellites?"

Skye shrugged. "Sure."

She slipped back to Coulson's desk and pulled up the map. Coulson typed the coordinates where she directed him and then handed back control. As she watched the locator operate, and the picture zoom and clear, the lump in her throat reached her tongue, and made her mouth dry.

"What?" May looked from Skye's mortified expression to the screen, and her own body fell still.

"I don't need to break through anything," Skye explained. "Someone's already taken down the cover coding. That's the Academy."

A New England forest, turning orange and gold in patches, surrounded the smoking black husks of buildings.


	9. 8: Feet on the Ground

**AN ~ Sorry for taking so long, I've been distracted by a number of other projects. ****How deadly is season 2 r/n oh the pain.**** Hopefully those of you who follow me on tumblr (theclaravoyant) have benefitted from this. Otherwise, feel free to check out my tumblr and retroactively benefit! On my home page I have a link to a page of all my AOS fanfiction - ****_far _****more extensive than the collection here. Anyway, enjoy! **

Chapter Eight - Feet on the Ground

"Okay." Coulson let his breath out in a huff, steeling himself. "You ready for this?" He tried to keep his tone light and full of bravado, to keep morale afloat in the rapidly darkening mood of the hangar. They'd had a few hours in the air to think about it, but being on the ground would be a whole other story.

Skye raised an eyebrow at Fitzsimmons. Fitz glanced back at her, grateful for her concern, but words were already hard enough. His heart was somewhere in his stomach being disintegrated. He was pretty sure he'd had a nightmare about this at some point. The case of DWARVES, who'd been born here, felt heavy in his hand.

Simmons turned her attention to Doctor Banner. He smiled reassuringly as he flipped the cover of his satchel over and lifted the bag onto his shoulder. He stepped close to her, until she offered a timid smile back. Simmons clung tighter to her own satchel. It had come from the Academy. It had travelled with her all this time. And here they were. She bit her lip and swallowed hard.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Skye summarised, on their behalves. She checked the pistol at her waist and stepped a little closer to them. Trip trailed behind her, and then Clint and Bobbi. All were lightly armed, just in case.

"Alright." Coulson nodded. "May?"

Coulson checked his own pistol as the ramp began to lower. May joined him a few moments later, solemn faced, and followed Fitz and Simmons out onto the charred landscape of one of SHIELD's greatest institutions.

At first there was nothing to be done but breathe through the horror. Charred papers, sometimes whole pages of books, fluttered around the black skeletons of buildings. Twisted glass spoke to the heat of the flames, an acrid smell its largely chemical fuel.

"Oh my God," Skye muttered, unable to resist the urge to crinkle her nose. If she didn't speak she was going to be sick. "D'you think they were still here?"

Fitz picked up a pen that had fallen on the walkway. It was a cheap ballpoint, easy to buy in bulk. It could have been anyone's.

Skye's heart sunk.

"It doesn't look like a bombing," Banner noted. "Not an aerial one, I mean."

"It _looks _like somebody walked through here with a giant blow torch, is what it looks like," Bobbi retorted. She ground her teeth together, not entirely certain that she wasn't going to pummel and electrocute the next person she saw who wasn't supposed to be there. She remembered how it felt when her colleagues had turned. How hard she'd had to fight to get out of there. What she'd had to do to keep herself safe and unsuspected. She wondered how much worse it could have been for students whose teachers had turned on them. Whose tutors and classmates had tried to kill them – or who had been killed.

But there were no bodies.

"Where is everyone?" Tony voiced the thought before Bobbi could. "Do you guys have a bomb shelter or something?"

"There's one under the oval," May said. "Another in administration, but that one's smaller."

"There's also the Boiler Room, isn't there?" Skye suggested. "If there wasn't time - and if it wasn't a bombing – some students might have gone there."

Fitz and Simmons nodded, a little listless but glad for the progress.

"Okay, good. Good." Tony scanned their surroundings. Good was most definitely a relative term, but he could work with it. "What about a chemical attack, anywhere safe from those?"

Fitz shrugged. "Most of the lecture theatres in um. In…um." He waved his hand.

"In biochemistry," Simmons filled in. "It's that way." She pointed across a quadrangle, to where a smooth, stone, round-fronted building had once joined the earth and sky. Now, on the one glass panel that remained intact – at least so far as she could see – a botched Hydra logo in red spray paint covered the imprinted SHIELD logo. Her breath caught, and she had to look away. Skye and Banner looked away from her, and the others took the hint, letting her have this moment to bite down the grief again and wipe away her tears.

"Jemma," Fitz whispered. "We're okay."

He touched her elbow gently. She turned at the contact, and smiled at him, a sad and broken but honest smile.

"Yeah," she said. "We're okay."

The moment passed, Fitzsimmons reappeared to the world.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to the Bus?" Coulson offered. Simmons shook her head.

"I'd only wonder."

Fitz nodded in agreement.

"Okay. Let's split this thing up then. We're looking for survivors, and any hint as to where they might have gone. If we can figure out what happened here, that's good too. Anything…else…we'll take back with us if we can, and send it home."

Nods ran around the circle.

"Skye, May, Bobbi, you go through Admin. Check the shelters, check the safes, check any computer you can break into. I wanna know what happened here, I wanna know who turned and I wanna know what they took.

"Banner, Clint and Fitzsimmons - check the dorms. Again, safes, computers – if anyone posted about this or took pictures, I want them. Take a look in the Boiler Room. Be careful. No one goes anywhere alone. Radio in anything you find.

"Trip, Tony, you're with me. We're going to Biochem."

Another round of nodding heads. The group split quietly, fully aware that burn-out buildings might not be the worst things they saw today and unable to pretend otherwise any longer.

"No point thinking the worst until it shakes your hand," Trip murmured. But even he was having a hard time keeping his chin up this time. He looked back at Fitzsimmons, who were practically huddled between Banner and Barton. Fitz moved his arm as if to put it around Simmons' shoulders, but decided against it. He still had that pen between his fingers. Trip remembered how it felt when he'd found out about Garrett. The dizziness, the nightmares, the insurmountable anger at how he could ever have so deeply trusted somebody like that. Hydra had done a lot more to Fitzsimmons than they'd ever done to him. He had to marvel at their strength, but at the same time, he had to wonder how long they were going to last.

"Trip," Coulson's voice distracted him. "Come on, we're moving out."


End file.
